


Sam's Feet

by Caladrius



Series: Dean's Dreams [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disney Princess, M/M, drunken dreams, foot fetish!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladrius/pseuds/Caladrius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's Dreams are short mini fics that are just that, Dean's dreams. Sometimes they are nice, sometimes they are sad. Sometimes they are memories, sometimes they are the embodiment of all he fears. But they all have one thing in common--they all revolve around Sam</p>
<p>"Sam's Feet" is about about claiming a beautiful princess...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam's Feet

Dean looks through the glass slipper.

Why the fuck is it called a slipper? How can a slipper be made of glass? Shouldn't a slipper, by definition, be made of something fuzzy and, oh,  _comfortable_  maybe? Not this thing. And not with a heel. It's got a heel. He's pretty sure that this is a new level of masochism.

But he's careful with it. Really careful. He  _needs_  this thing for some reason.

Oh. Because...

Hmm.

Ahh, this foot! Dean blinks. It's a nice foot. So elegant and shapely. Nude toes. Nice touch. No paint to obscure the cute little picture of a dainty foot for this horrible footwear. And hell yes, that ankle, this leg.

Damn, Dean loves legs. Loves the way they have a flat plane on top, and this perfect curve below in the calf. How it bunches and tightens when this adorable foot shakes impatiently, points at him with a demanding big toe that jabs his shoulder.

Kinda forceful. Kinky.

He lets go of the "slipper" with one hand to run along that lovely, smooth leg. Just to the knee, he mentally promises himself. He's a gentleman, after all.

The foot kicks him.

"Okay, okay," he concedes, drawing his hand back. It's fine. This is just the opening salvo. When he gets the glass clog with the stiletto heel (he's done thinking of it as a "slipper." It rankles his common sense) on this foot, it'll be "game on." This is only the first step.

_Step_. Get it?

He tries to make good by leaning over, kissing that first fat knuckle of the toe that even now is waggling with anticipation.

Goddamn. It even  _smells_  nice.

Awesome.

Dean lifts the glass shoe thing. He delicately slides it over the toes, pulling down until the length of it lines up with the heel. He pushes it on, but gently, so gently, because this is a gentle being and he can't risk breaking anything. He can't. He's gone through  _so_  much goddamn trouble just to get this far, and this isn't even, technically, first base. But it'll be worth it. He knows.

It fits. It fits perfectly, of course it does.

Dean smirks. He leans in because this means he's found something. Maybe he's finally gonna get married. Settle down. Maybe he's marrying money, too, because who the fuck goes through the trouble of getting glass made into the shape of a shoe this big?

God. Okay, those stupid fairy tales have something. They got something right.

"Dean."

Dean looks up.

"Goddamn, Sam. You're beautiful."

Sam's got that look that says he knows. He pushes Dean's shoulder with the balls of his glass-clad foot. It's attached to a leg that's flounced in petticoats and some kind of off-the-shoulder blue gown.

"Yeah, I know," he says.

Dean's in awe. Sam's, like, covered in  _glitter_  or something. He literally  _shines_. It's adorable.

"Where'd you get the dress, dude?"

Sam shrugs. "Don't know. Don't think blue is my color though. Green maybe."

"Yeah, green would've matched your eyes."

"I can't tell if you're being serious or creepy." Sam cocks his head with a small smile and lifts the other foot up for the matching slipper. "Let's go, dude. My foot's getting cold."

"Oh, yes, Princess," Dean hurries to put the other shoe on. "Whaddayou think?"

Sam looks down, pressing the puffy gown flat with the sides of his arms so he can see his feet sparkle in the crazy footwear. He seems to like it. He turns his feet from side to side, admiring them.

"Perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So I guess that means you're the one."

"Hell  _yes_  I'm the one." Dean loves the sound of that. He leans over Sam's lap, his chin on his arm. Sam's shiny sparkles are kinda mesmerizing. He just positively  _glows_.

"I'm not sure how the hell I'm supposed to dance in these things," Sam admits. He runs a hand through Dean's hair with slow intimacy. It feels real nice.

"Dance? Is that how this is supposed to end?"

Sam shrugs. His naked shoulders are so animated in this dress. "I guess it doesn't have to." Sam leans down. They're nose to nose. Goddamn, Sam's just too fucking adorable, even if he's so...

* * *

"Dean!"

Dean snorts awake. Snorts  _loudly._ His head is hurting, Jesus, what the fuck?

"Dean, Christ, are you still alive?"

Sam is nose to nose, but at least the bastard has stopped shaking him.

"What? God, where's the fire?" His mouth tastes like cotton and the light around Sam from the cabin window is like a halo of doom. "Ugha," he complains and turns his head from the piercing rays that cause little pulsing explosions in the front of his head.

"Dean, it's like three in the afternoon."

Dean throws a hand over his face for protection. "So...?"

"So, dude, you shouldn't be on painkillers for your leg if you're gonna get drunk watching Disney movies. Bad mojo, man. I'm serious. It could kill you."

Dean slides his arm from his face just a little. Sam's got that  _you should know better_  voice on, but there's maybe a little worry in there. He glances down at his leg. The damn thing is still in a cast. He's still holed up here in Bobby's cabin and Leviathan are still out in the world  _eating_  people. Ugh. His leg. Goddammit.

"I was not getting drunk watching Disney movies..."

The empty bottle of Jack on the coffee table means that he can't plausibly deny the first part but...

Sam makes a little sound in the back of his throat. He finally smiles, just a little.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. God Sam. Why don't you...why don't you just...go for another fucking run or something." He tries to half turn his body back into the couch so he can maybe sleep off the fucking monster of a headache.

"Hmm. Not sure I'll be able to run in those glass slippers, dude. But I'll give it a try."

Sam pats his bum leg gently as Dean suddenly throws his head up and looks straight at his brother.

Sam laughs as he picks up the keys from the coffee table.

"I'm just gonna duck out to get my prince some pie. Call me if you need anything else."

Dean's jaw is open. He realizes it after the door closes.

Fucking  _hell_.

_No more goddamn Disney movies!_


End file.
